by Paul Blades
“So, muchacha,” Diego spoke to the girl, “I’m going to give you a chance to suck my cock. Or we can play a little game, which will it be?”
The girl’s gag had been removed and she spat out a string of insults to the killer of her lover. “Fuck you, you beast!” she yelled. “I curse your fucking mother! You’re the son of a diseased pig! I piss on you, you mother fucker!” Her voice was shrill and tremulous. She was brave and courageous, braver than she was, Margie reflected sorrowfully. But her wavering voice evidenced her fear and the knowledge that the bandit leader was going to do something cruel and painful to her.
Diego just smiled and took a puff of his cigar. “Did I ever tell you, Pepe, about when I worked in a whorehouse in Barinas out in the west? I was a little over 20 and I had to leave Caracas because of some trouble. I worked there as a bouncer and an enforcer for the pimp who owned the place.” As Diego was talking, he was shaving the bushy, black hair under the girl’s arms. She was looking at him fearfully, unsure of what he was going to do. Pepe was watching with gleeful anticipation.
“The whore who ran the girls often bought some pretty young things out in the countryside and some of them were reluctant to perform their oral duties. You could beat them and slap them around, threaten them with anything, but they wouldn’t open their pretty little mouths to a cock for the life of them. Now, what good’s a whore who won’t suck your prick, eh, Pepe?” he asked. He had denuded the girl’s right underarm and was working on the left.
“Now the problem was, you didn’t want the girls all marked up and so you had to hurt them somewhere where it wouldn’t show. Someplace soft and sensitive, like under their arms. You see?” The second armpit was now as smooth and devoid of hair as the first. “But you need to get rid of their hair first because you need a nice clean surface to work with.”
The killer placed the razor back down in the bowl and ran his hands over the hairless surfaces of the naked girl’s under arms. Her lips were trembling now, but she held them forcefully together. Her nipples were taut and hard from her fear. Margie felt a sinking in her stomach. She knew the girl was going to suffer something terrible. Her captor was smiling down at her, his big black moustache curling on his upper lip, his knees spread wide in front of her and his flaccid cock dangling from his pants.
“One last chance, muchacha,” Diego told the frightened girl. She looked at him fiercely and then reared her head back and spat in his face. Diego recoiled from the girl’s insult. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his bloody shirt. “There will be something extra special for that, you stinking cunt,” he told her menacingly. “But for now we’ll forget it,” he added nonchalantly, changing mood. He looked up at Pepe. “This works every time,” he told him assuredly.
He took a long puff on his cigar, making the ash end glow brightly. Then he took it from his mouth and contemplated it, flicking at it with his thumb and knocking the extra ash off of it. Without a word, he leaned over and applied the red hot ember to a space under the girl’s extended right arm. The girl’s eyes widened immediately and she gave out a blood curdling scream. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Tears flowed down her face and she struggled to escape the red hot kiss of the cigar. But Diego was holding her upper arm firmly in his left hand while applying the cigar to her flesh with the other. Her bound feet prevented her from rising.
When Diego removed the cigar from her soft, tender underarm, he was smiling. This brought back old, happy memories for him. He had had the run of the whorehouse and was often charged with breaking in the beautiful, innocent, young girls that the madam had bought. The poor dirt farmers were led to believe that they were indenturing their daughters to be maids for wealthy women in the city and welcomed the fee they received so that they could feed the rest of the family. When the girls reached the large, finely decorated mansion on the edge of the city, they learned different, of course.
Diego let the girl stew in her juices for a moment. She was sobbing woefully, tears cascading down her face. Margie expected the cruel bandit to give the girl another chance to change her mind, but, without speaking to her, the man shifted the cigar to his left hand, sucked on it until the ash end was bright red again and then applied it under the girl’s left armpit.
She screamed again pitifully. Her body shook and she strained at the bonds that held her hands aloft and her feet tied to the deck. Tears fell down her face in cascades.
“Always do both sides, compadre,” Diego said calmly to Pepe who was watching wide eyed. “This way, if they refuse again, they will know that they will have to suffer both once more before they get the chance to correct their ways.”
The bandit waited until the girl calmed down. She was moaning and her body was limp. He took her cheeks in his hand and lifted her face. “Now, muchacha, are you going to suck my prick or do we have to do it again?”
She looked back at him forlornly. It was obvious that the bandit would enjoy doing this all day. His cock had hardened with the excitement of watching the girl suffer at his hands. She remained silent, her lips trembling and tears running down her pretty face. Diego took the cigar and put it back in his mouth, drawing on it until the end grew bright red again. When the girl saw the fiery end she finally broke down.
“Please, don’t burn me again, please!” she said miserably. “I’ll do what you want! Please don’t hurt me again! Please!”
The bandit broke out into a huge grin. He looked over at Pepe who was returning his gaze with admiration. “You see, compadre, it works every time,” Diego told him.
The huge, muscular man took hold of the girl’s hair and pulled her head towards his loins. “Open your mouth, conchita, and let me in. And you better not bite me with those pretty teeth of yours or I’ll pull them all out. And then we’ll cross over to the riverbank and take a little walk where I’ll build a nice fire and roast you over it for a few hours. Would you like that, conchita?”
The girl utter a plaintive, “No, seňor,” her face a mask of torment. Diego put the tip of his cock to her lips and she slowly opened them. When they had parted, the bandit pressed her head down on his lap and thrust his cock inside.
Margie watched as Diego effectively jerked himself off with the girl’s mouth. He pulled her head up and down on his prick in a steady, slow motion. He gave her a series of instructions as he did so, “Make your lips tighter”, “Use your tongue”, “Suck harder”. The young woman’s arms were pulled up and behind her head by the rope that connected her wrists to the canopy above her and she moaned and cried as her shoulders were stretched and strained. Diego continued to suck on his cigar as the woman involuntarily pleasured him.
There was something perversely exciting to Margie as she saw her captor’s member slide in and out of the unhappy woman’s mouth. He raised the girl’s head until the edge of its bulbous helmet was exposed and then pushed it down again until her lips practically touched the base of his cock. Each time that she had the fat, rigid pole fully immersed inside her, the girl began to cough and splutter as her airway was blocked. The girl’s dark brown hued, delicate frame, kneeling naked and bound, her black hair pulled behind her head, made her seem all the more delectable. Margie cursed herself for finding any pleasure in the young woman’s ordeal, but couldn’t help the tingling that the sight produced in her loins. She had never seen another woman suck a cock before and the sight of it made her think of what she looked like when she did it, the cheeks bulging, the pursing of the lips, the round oval of the mouth that was pleasuring him, the vision of a bound woman on her knees, servicing a powerful, callous man.
Diego groaned with pleasure when his orgasm came. He held the girl’s head down on his lap until he was done, ignoring her plaintive moans and squeals. He stood up when he was completed and invited Pepe to take his place. The girl whined and gave a piteous grimace when she realized that she would have to perform the act again, but gave Pepe no trouble as he guided her face to his cock.
“You do the work this time, puta,” Pepe instructe
d her. Obediently, the girl engulfed Pepe’s stiffened manhood between her lips and lowered her head to her obligatory task.
The rest of the day was spent by the men lazing around the boat, drinking scotch and fucking the whores. Diego took Margie down to the captain’s bunk and fucked her there, their first time on a real bed. He fucked the brown skinned girl up on the deck and made her blow him again. Afterwards, he beat her cruelly with a strap he had found as punishment for her unforgivable rudeness to him earlier. Pepe kept the girl busy too.
After lunch, Diego made Margie demonstrate for Pepe her ability to cum while administering oral delight to him. Sitting on the same boxes where he had convinced the black haired girl to suck him off, Diego instructed her not to let him come until she was ready to come too and it took the better part of half an hour before the girl was able to excite herself sufficiently. She was mortified at sucking her captor’s prick in front of his obsequious minion and the black haired girl, but what could she do? When she came, she forgot all about them as her pussy’s messages of pleasure overwhelmed her.
The men had decided to travel only at dusk and in the early hours of the morning. There was always the slim possibility of a police patrol or being spotted by someone who knew the boat. And so the three day trip up stream to Porto Vaca took five. When not steaming upriver, the men ate themselves silly from the boat’s stores, drank scotch, smoked cigars and assaulted the women. And sometimes they slept.
While the boat was out in the open river, the men kept the women tied up down in the captain’s cabin. It was Diego’s idea that they should be tied face to face, their hands behind their backs, their ankles, bellies and necks connected to each other. It was strangely exciting to Margie to have her naked flesh rubbing against the skin of the black haired girl for many hours each day, especially after the men had ordered them to make love to each other on the deck while they watched on the second day of the trip.
Margie had been startled by the order. She had never made love to a woman before. The bandit had a long switch he had pulled from the riverbank at one of their stops and lashed them both repeatedly until they reluctantly put their lips together. Margie found the girl’s mouth sweet and soft and, when the girl’s tongue mixed with hers, she could not prevent a sigh of pleasure escaping. Their hands were tied behind their backs and they only had their lips and tongues to administer the caresses that the men kept demanding. The blond haired captive groaned with pleasure as the brown skinned girl put her dainty lips on her teats and suckled them and then, returning the favor, she licked and kissed the girl’s small, pointed mounds until she cried out with pleasure. Margie was ordered to the bottom when it was time for them to suck each other’s cunts. When she placed her tongue inside the soft, pungently odored passage above her, the girl’s thighs on each side of her head as the girl’s lips seized her own pleasure bud, Margie felt a shudder of pleasure pass through her body. When she came, her still clogged feet slammed on the deck and her body convulsed with passion. The girl came soon afterwards, mashing her flooded quim on Margie’s eager mouth, moaning and groaning her lust. After that, their Sapphic display became a twice daily ritual.
And so as their bodies rubbed together softly tied face to face below decks, their sweaty breasts, bellies and thighs sliding against each other as they squirmed uncomfortably in place or as the boat gave an unexpected shift, Margie was brought to an almost constant state of lust. When the boat stopped to await the next period of semidarkness, she eagerly anticipated being given relief by her captor’s seemingly ever ready cock.
When they finally pulled into Porto Vaca it was dark. The small but energetic town was brightly lit. Margie and the girl had been brought out on deck for the occasion. Kneeling on the deck, her wrists and ankles tied together, Margie watched as Diego pulled the boat into a slip. There were about six or seven other boats already docked there and the people on them waved and cheered the arrival of the famous bandit. Diego had gone through the dead man’s clothes and found suitable replacements, a large, white, loose, cotton, pullover shirt and a pair of black dungarees. The men had washed and cleaned themselves and their captives, brushing their hair and dressing them in skirts. Margie was wearing the long, flowing, multicolored peasant’s skirt that she had been wearing when she was kidnapped. The black haired girl was wearing a dark red, pleated skirt that the men had found among her things. They were both bare breasted. Instead of her usual, orange, face encompassing gag, Diego had torn a piece of the other woman’s night gown and rolled it up and shoved it in her mouth so that her pretty face could be clearly seen. The other girl’s mouth was similarly stuffed.
Once the boat had been tied up, the men circled the women’s necks with rope and, untying their ankles, pulled them to their feet. The cargo could wait until later. They had money in their pockets and great thirsts. Diego wanted to go to a tavern he knew a few blocks away from the docks to celebrate his success and to show off the gringa he had captured.
The bandit was in seventh heaven. He pulled the blond female after him as he strolled jauntily down the dock to the wharf. He was wearing the straw hat that the gringa had given him and her large, round sunglasses. It didn’t matter that there was no sun out, it was a matter of style. He had been anxiously awaiting his arrival at Porto Vaca. Tonight, he would sleep in a hotel. He had been saving the violation of the beautiful gringa’s dainty, rear hole until now. He wanted to do it the right way, with clean sheets, hot butter and a whip. But first he wanted to parade himself before his compatriots with his prize, do some business regarding the black haired cunt and celebrate amidst the noise and bustle of Esquella’s café.
He had known Esquella for many years. She ran a boisterous, bucket of blood type of place with gambling, cheap booze and a whorehouse upstairs. The place had no name really, but was generally referred to as “La Casa de Piruja”, the whore’s place. Esquella was a notorious courtesan from Caracas who had placed herself outside the law by killing a gangster who was horning in on her high class house. Rather than face charges, she had fled to Porto Vaca, just the other side of the Brazilian border, and resumed her trade there. You could get anything you wanted at Esquella’s.
Margie was appalled at being dragged through the streets of the busy town half naked and on a leash. The people seemed to take no notice that she was the fierce man’s prisoner, her hands bound behind her and her mouth stuffed full with cloth. Diego and Pepe stopped several times on their way to the tavern to chat with old amigos and show off the women. Diego had to yank hard at the leash around Margie’s neck when she shied as he lifted her skirt to show off her delightful, blond shrouded pussy.
If you wanted to live a prosperous, long life in Porto Vaca, you minded your own business. So what if some gringa had lost her freedom to the celebrated bandit Diego Badoya. If you were in Porto Vaca in the first place you probably didn’t want anyone sticking their noses in your affairs either.
At the door to the tavern, Diego and Pepe made a grand entrance. Diego had fastened the .45 to his hip with a holster he found on the boat and both he and Pepe had their machetes attached to their belts. The shotgun and the automatic rifle that Pepe had used on the day of Margie’s kidnapping had been left behind as it was just a little beyond the pale to be carrying weapons of that magnitude around with you unless you intended to use them. The men had no worry that the boat would be looted while they were away from it. First of all, everyone would know that it and its contents belonged to Diego Badoya and nobody would want to risk his ire. Second, there were plenty of people at the dock on the other boats and they would protect Diego’s with their lives as a matter of common courtesy.
There were shouts of greeting and celebratory whoops as the crowd saw who had come in. Diego was in his glory. This is what he lived for. The tavern was crowded with excited men and women, drinking, dancing and gambling. There was a four piece band with a coronet player and three singing guitarists playing in the corner. The bar was long and a crowd of bodies pressed agains
t it. There were about ten to twelve large round tables at which games of chance were being played.
Margie was stupefied that a place like this existed. She had seen Hollywood versions of wild, drunken taverns, but this place exceeded even their imaginations. There was a stairway that led upstairs and a line of pretty, young, scantily clad women were sitting primly on little chairs on the landing. The room was clouded by heavy smoke and the smell of spilled booze and sweat permeated the place. Low, round, wooden candelabras hung from the ceiling with kerosene fueled lamps around their circumferences. The women seemed wild and joyful, some of them with their blouses open and sitting on men’s laps, others dancing or sitting at the elbows of the gamblers, drinking from thick short glasses filled with brandy or tequila.
Most of all was the noise. You couldn’t hear yourself think in a place like this. The band, the shouting, the laughter all mingled to create a wall of sound that greeted them as they came in the door.
Diego towed Margie along as he wound himself through the tables. Pepe was following with the black haired girl behind him. They didn’t stop until they reached an office door near the bar and Diego pounded on it with his fist. A moment later, the door swung open rapidly and a heavyset woman with long, curly, black hair framing her face and anger in her eyes appeared. When she saw it was Diego, her eyes lit up and she cried out, “You motherfucking son of a whore! I thought that they had hanged you!” She opened her arms and draped them around Diego’s shoulders, squeezing him hard. Her face was pretty and she was wearing a low cut, white, ruffled blouse that showed off a huge cleavage. Her skirt was black and brown striped with a ruffle on its hem. She looked about 40 to 45 years old. It was Esquella herself.